The Candidate
by Smehur
Summary: Nihlus is near the end of his training with Saren when they are sent to evaluate potential Spectre candidates. Garrus is one of them and he is determined to leave an impression despite his father's wishes. A sharp-edged triangle forms and cuts deep.
1. Arrival

_The Candidate_ was written in response to a prompt at Mass Effect Kink Meme.

I recommend reading _Unnerved & Unnerving_ by yours truly before proceeding. It is not required, but definitely recommended as a sort of prequel.

* * *

><p><strong>Arrival<strong>

Nihlus went two steps in front of Saren. That was the appropriate order of things. They were not yet equals. Nihlus often wondered if they ever would be, even once he was appointed as a Spectre. That was supposed to be a matter of formality now, but still. Nothing was certain with Saren.

Doing things this early in the morning made him derailed as usual. They were on a nondescript rocky moon of a giant gas planet orbiting an ordinary yellow dwarf in the Saeclum Cluster. The Spectre training camp moved to a different location each year; Nihlus had always imagined those would be challenging, unforgiving places, like Invictus. But from what he'd seen yesterday, staring through the viewports of the civilian transport during the three-hour silence that took to fly from the colony to the camp, Ganima was nothing if not tame. Tame and boring. Perhaps that was the challenge? Whoever manages to get through the training without once getting drunk and laid, gets to be a Spectre candidate.

He chuckled for himself, then raised a suspicious browplate. How long had it been since _he_ last got drunk and laid?

The camp consisted mostly of long, thin-walled buildings for recruit housing, prefabs for officers, a tiny spaceport and various training grounds. It looked clean, maintained and again, boring. Nothing like boot camp, oh no. Even his advanced training programs took place in overcrowded underground compounds where everything and everyone perpetually smelled like sweat and boots but you'd only be shocked in the beginning and later you'd get used to it completely. This was… a luxury camp. Yes. All with little patches of imported greenery and water dispensers disguised to look like they were made of stone. More like a shore-leave spot than a training facility. That made no sense whatsoever. Probably there was a quirk he wasn't seeing.

"So what makes this place deserving of a Spectre training camp?" he said, turning sideways.

It took several more steps for Saren to answer. "If you'd read the files I gave you, you wouldn't have to ask. They even had pictures."

Someone was cranky this morning. Nihlus almost said that aloud, but checked himself in time. "I skimmed," he shrugged. "Come on. Just tell me."

"Try running and you'll see."

A year ago, Nihlus would have actually tried running. He knew better than that now. It was too early for riddles, but he decided to give it a shot anyway. Why would running be a challenge? He looked around and up. The sky was perfectly clear but an unusual dark shade of blue. And he could see the brightest stars even though the sun was pretty high already. "Ah," he smiled. "It's the air. The moon isn't massive enough to keep a lot of atmosphere."

He turned to flash his smile at Saren, and got a dismissive flick of the left mandible in return. Which was more than he'd expected.

They walked through a ramp, got a series of salutes, and emerged on a huge clearing. There was enough room in it for the whole battalion and the two small units in the middle stood out like specks of dust on a turned-off console. There were two terrain vehicles parked behind the little gathering, and a couple of officers talking and gesturing. The men were all wearing identical green and gray combat suits, standard military Elanus issues equipped with fast-response kinetic barriers and additional ablative padding covering neck and waist. Each had a side arm attached to their right thigh, and an assault rifle on their back. The weapons were of better make: Armax service issues. Nihlus was jealous; he'd never had a chance to play with such nice toys before Saren took him in. He had to admit things worked out quite well for him, though. He touched his own prototype pistol with a mixture of pride and gratitude and a pinch of melancholy. A gift from Saren, used to save his cranky ass more than a few times. Oh yes, Nihlus was jealous; for one of these men, training was about to start. For him, it was about to end.

When they got close enough, the officers snapped to attention and saluted, the men following suite. Two squads in two tidy lines, still, perching as tall as they could, backs straight, shoulders wide apart, gazes fixed ahead, fringes shining in the bleached light; they were the best the turian army had to offer. And they looked magnificent. Like ancient hunter-angels in the murals under Temple Palaven. Yes, Saren, I watched the documentaries you gave me. All of them. And I didn't even yawn. Much.

Now Saren stepped forward and stood in line with him, as an equal. Curious.

"What do I do?" Nihlus said in a low voice.

"Act like a Spectre."


	2. Inspection

**Inspection**

Garrus observed the two Spectres with a keen eye. He was excited. No: ecstatic! This was the day. Spirits of the Skies, this had to be the day. He tried to tower over the others, if not in height, then in determination. A good officer could sense that, smell that. And Saren was nothing if not a good officer – if you can consider a Spectre as such. The most decorated turian in the service of the Council _ever_! And he was here to personally pick a candidate. It was almost surreal.

The other one… Garrus didn't recognize the other one. He was young, perhaps only a few years older than Garrus himself. That spelled tomes of hope. Saren had been twenty when he'd become a Spectre, and Garrus was twenty-one. It was certainly possible. But all the others were older and had more experience.

He suppressed the emotional yo-yo that usually followed these deliberations and focused on looking as sharp, as lethal as possible. The Spectres stood as equals now. Interesting. They exchanged some words that Garrus couldn't catch, and then Saren spoke.

"At ease."

They all relaxed and clasped their hands behind their backs like one man. Garrus knew some of the faces from training, but the units were only formed yesterday, presumably according to the criteria the Spectres had supplied. Still, they were the best of the best and it showed. He could read nothing from Saren's face, but the other one seemed satisfied.

"I'm sure you already know all this, but protocol demands that I recite the terms of your service before we begin."

The way Saren spit out the word protocol like some disgusting obscenity made Garrus inflate with anticipation. Finally, someone who understands. His face must have twitched, because Saren looked straight at him as he continued the speech.

"We are here to select up to one candidate for Spectre training. You are the top ranking among the recruits in this camp; the selection was made based on objective criteria – ability scores and mission success rates. However, the final decision will be made at our discretion. No complaints will be considered. If anyone has a problem with this, you should speak now so we can find a suitable replacement in time."

Of course nobody spoke. Garrus was relieved when Saren's eyes left him to study the other faces; a steel, ice-cold gaze devoid of feeling. Was that what it took to come out at the top?

"Good," Saren said. "The evaluation will take the shape of a war-game to start this afternoon. One squad against the other. Live ammo. Incapacitated combatants will be eliminated from the game. You are to avoid inflicting fatal injuries unless necessary. Every fatality will be investigated, but not necessarily sanctioned."

Garrus noticed how the other Spectre shifted uncomfortably at this. Saren seemed to have noticed it too, and he shot a sideways glance at his younger colleague before continuing.

"The game was designed, and will be supervised, by Nihlus. I must leave on urgent business and will come back in three days to review the results. You are to take his orders and judgment as if they were mine. Understood?"

That was clearly directed at the Colonel, who nodded in confirmation. But Garrus was far more interested in the other Spectre – Nihlus. There was something very much like bewilderment on that young face now. Equals my ass. Garrus must have made a face again, because Nihlus's eyes shot at him, an incredibly piercing gaze of pure emerald green. Saren's stare had been mortifying; Nihlus's was mesmerizing. The Spectres exchanged some hushed words again and Nihlus kept looking at Garrus, probably not really seeing him. Finally the mask of puzzlement fell off to be replaced by grim acceptance.

Saren left then. Nihlus clasped his hands behind his back, cleared his throat and said, "You're to report to meeting room eight for a briefing at eleven hundred. The game begins at noon." He made a sweep over all the faces with those intense, green eyes. "Dismissed."


	3. Private Conversation

**Private Conversation**

It was half past ten. Nihlus had already searched two abandoned buildings for 'meeting room eight' and was running out of patience. Not that he'd been in any sort of patient mood even before setting out; he simply couldn't believe that Saren had upped and left him to handle the evaluation just like that. Was he out of his twisted mind? He'd been acting strange ever since that fallout they had over cleaning the ship, of all things. Like an old married couple.

They'd had something like a fight and then Saren had told him to get the fuck out of his sight. Prior to that memorable occasion, Nihlus had only heard him curse once or twice during the entire course of his training. Of course he had done as bidden and left. It had been three weeks before Saren had contacted him again.

They flew here on a civilian shuttle and exchanged a total of three partial conversations: a cold hello when they first met (just hello; no how have you been, or what have you been up to, or how did you manage the three weeks without pay and a place to stay). Saren told him then, in that even, impassive voice of his, that he'd sent the evaluation report regarding Nihlus's candidacy to the Council. A positive evaluation report. Making his appointment a matter of formality. Nihlus had to invest every shred of self-control into hiding the slew of opposing emotions that had blinded and deafened him: he'd be a Spectre! That was awesome! But he didn't want the training to be over. That was dreadful.

He paused to shake the conflicting feelings away: not the time, not the place.

The second bit of conversation was a set of instructions during their FTL flight, about how Saren imagined the game and what sort of recruits his algorithms for "objective" selection picked out (misfits, every last one of them; Saren apparently had a thing for misfits). And the final took place before the inspection, if one could call that a conversation at all.

After the inspection was over, Nihlus hurried to Saren's prefab and found it locked; the trooper on patrol said the Spectre had already gone to the spaceport. Nihlus tried running to get there in time to speak to him; and arrived half an hour too late, panting and sweating like a varren in heat, having learned first-hand why Ganima was a prime spot for training after all.

The building he entered now seemed empty as well. He simply couldn't wrap his mind around this camp. Where were all the people? Where were the recruits? The instructors? The drill sergeants? Where were guards and officers? Saren had told him once that these camps were a joke, that the probability of being inducted into the Spectres this way was close to nil. But Nihlus didn't think it would be _this_ kind of a joke. And the men in the two squads didn't look like they were to joke with. Not at all. Misfits or not, Saren had chosen them well.

He looked behind one door, behind another, looked for signs on the walls or ceiling. Nothing.

"Look. Dad. This has to stop. I'm old enough…"

The irritated words coming from the room in front froze him still. He couldn't see the speaker, but he thought he could recognize the voice of one of the selectees. The defiant young man with silver skin and the proud cobalt colors of Palaven.

"Why? Just because you say so? I don't buy that. This is my decision to make, not…"

A pause. The other side of the conversation probably went into the boy's earpiece. Nihlus considered his options: sneak back, walk right by, or stay and listen in.

"What do you mean, they never come back?"

Interesting. Nihlus decided to stay.

"It's a military operation, Dad, of course there are casualties. We all know the risks, blah blah blah… What do you mean, 'none'? You're making no… Well that's odd. How many did you say?"

Nihlus caught himself extending his neck in the direction of the voice, itching to hear the missing part of the conversation. They were obviously talking about Saren's evaluation games.

"Look, Dad… Will you let me speak for a moment? Thank you. Listen. I can take care of myself. I'll look into… There you go again. Can't we talk like normal people for five minutes? I won't… Dad. I won't get killed. I promise."

Nihlus shook his head. Don't make promises you can't keep, kid. We all get killed sooner or later.

"You know, I was just waiting for you to bring Mum up."

The boy's voice went into a deeper register and Nihlus found himself swallowing a knot. It no longer felt right to listen. But for some reason he couldn't walk away.

"Dad, please. That's just not fair. This is what _I_ want. I don't want to be a cop. I want to be… well, a stylish cop."

The smugness in his voice was so perfect that Nihlus couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

"Yeah, sorry, that was cheap. But so was dragging Mum into this. Don't you think she wants me to follow my heart? Don't you think I know her well enough to tell?"

A long pause ensued, and the spell of curiosity almost wore off, but then the boy spoke again.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this. Dad. If you do this… Are you serious? I can't…"

The voice became rasp and desperate. "If you do this, I don't know if I'll ever speak to you again."

There was silence. Longer than before, and Nihlus guessed the conversation was over. Then came a burst of sound as the boy growled and drove one limb or another into something solid with a painful thud. Nihlus leaped into motion, pushed the door open, and found a furious turian trashing about in an empty room.

He didn't waste words; he grabbed the boy's shoulder from behind and sure enough, a fist with sufficient momentum to turn him stupid flew in his general direction as the boy spun to face him. But Nihlus was expecting it and ducked. The force of the blow carried the boy over his shoulder and all he had to do was give a slight push up to topple the boy head over heels.

"What the fuck?" said the boy, sitting up and spitting out dust he'd picked up from the naked tile floor.

"You done?"

The boy looked around, dazed. "Yeah. I think." He sprung to his feet, flexed his shoulders and tugged on his uniform. There was still a patch of dust on his face but he was dead serious, his mandibles pressed together so tight that Nihlus could almost hear them creak. "You listened to my private conversation."

"Guilty."

The boy stared at him for a few beats, unbelieving, then suddenly relaxed, shook his head, and even smiled a little. "Damn. That was so…"

"Turian of me?"

"Exactly."

Nihlus smiled back. If only you knew how badly that description applies to me.

"Sir?"

"Nihlus."

The boy nodded. "Nihlus. I'm sorry you had to witness that. I'm not usually prone to… outbursts."

Right. And I'm a krogan princess. "Vakarian, was it?"

"Yeah. Garrus. Is that ok? First names and all? I've never spoken to a Spectre before."

Nihlus started to wave it off and say he wasn't yet a Spectre, but stopped just in time. "It's fine," he said instead. He wondered if he had become a passable liar next to Saren; not two years ago, he couldn't lie worth a shit, just like Vakarian here. But judging from his awed expression, it not only passed, it passed with flying colors. An awed expression he must have had when he'd met Saren. It seemed like an eternity ago.

"So, what was that all about?" he said.

Vakarian shook his head again, searching the floor for an answer. "It's a long story. But… There's something… only I'm not sure I should…"

"Ask about Saren?"

"Yeah."

"Go ahead. With the understanding that you may not be answered."

"Of course. See, Dad told me the weirdest thing. Did you know no man has ever returned from Saren's evaluations? Not one. In eight years."

Nihlus shifted his weight from one leg to another. He'd guessed it would be something like that. It certainly was odd. Hell, more than odd. More like, unbelievable. Still… it could be explained away with enough mental gymnastics. He was sure Saren would be perfectly capable of giving a plausible rationale faster than he could say one-night-stand. "How'd your father get this intel?"

"He's C-Sec. Really good at this kind of stuff."

"I see."

Vakarian was looking at him impatiently. "And?"

"And what?"

"Is it true? Is that what's going to happen here?"

"You mean, are you all going to die?"

"Well… yeah. Are we?"

Nihlus laughed. He liked this Garrus Vakarian; there was not a shred of fear or any kind of concern in his voice. The questioning was a matter of pure, almost child-like, curiosity. "I suppose it could happen, yeah," he said. "But not by design. And, technically speaking, this is not Saren's evaluation. It's… mine."

It was so odd to say that, to lie like that, but it seemed to go down well. Too well.

"Damn. Why didn't _I_ think of that? Shit. See, technically speaking, I shouldn't care less because Dad's pulling me out of training anyway."

"Is that so?"

Nihlus took a double take within at how Saren-like his own voice sounded to him. It was Saren's phrase, all with Saren's inflections, with Saren's impossible confidence. And to his astonishment, he found the confidence was well backed up; he could literally see the relevant parts of the Council legislature governing the Spectre selection process scrolling before his eyes. Article 53, Point 4, any adult turian in active military service may apply for Spectre training. It was a simple matter, really. There were no legal means to stop someone from signing up. Even your own son. Just for fun, Nihlus tried to pull up Vakarian's file from memory, and lo! There it was! Vakarian was twenty one. What? Only three years younger than himself? He looked like a boy to Nihlus, swimming in hormones and rebellious energies. No matter; he was definitely an adult by both Hierarchy and Council standards. And Nihlus's words of doubt had not been empty.

"Well," said Vakarian, "I know that he shouldn't be able to. But a lot of people – important people – owe him favors. I don't know how he's going to do it, but I know he will. And I fucking hate him for it."

Nihlus dropped his eyes. His father was dead, and he hadn't seen his mother in almost a decade. The notion of a big caring family offended him.

"If it's any consolation," he said after a while, "I don't think there _are_ people important enough to pull off something like that – not with Saren, anyway. Well, unless the Council orders it. Do your father's connections go that high?"

"I have no idea. Damn, I hope not. Wait… didn't you say this was your evaluation?"

"Saren will come back to make the final decision. But until then… yeah, I'm running the show. And I assure you: if people die, it will be their own fault, not Saren's. Or mine."

"Fair enough," Vakarian said.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, and Nihlus glanced at his omni. It was almost eleven. "You don't happen to know where meeting room eight is?"

Vakarian laughed, and it was a deep, rich laughter of a good man, the kind of laughter Nihlus had no defenses against. "Wrong side of camp. People only come here to hide. And fuck. And sniff."

Nihlus must have made a fatherly (or Sarenly) face because Vakarian hurried to say, "Not me, I swear. I don't do that sort of stuff. Sniffing, I mean. I sometimes do need to hide. Obviously. And…"

"Yeah, I get the picture." Nihlus wanted to say more, he wanted to say there was no need to be mortified because he too liked to hide and sniff from a time to time, and drink, and fuck. Oh yes, he did. But he wasn't supposed to make friends. Not here, not now. No matter how much he liked Vakarian, he was a Spectre now, even if it was a borrowed title, and no matter how reassuring he'd managed to sound just seconds ago, he knew he might easily happen to send the dead body of the said Vakarian to his father in a matter of days, or even hours. So he suppressed the laughs and said, "We should go."


	4. Getting Drunk

**Getting Drunk**

Garrus couldn't remember what he'd expected from the evaluation before the Spectres showed up, but he sure hadn't expected it to be as exciting and as fun as it turned out to be. During the first two days, they had rotated as squad-leaders, and on the third, the leaders with the best results got to lead through the entire day. Of course Garrus had emerged as the best in his squad, and Lavena in hers. Lavena was perfect. She had the most intricate Rubori markings, going from her cheekplates up to the tips of her delicate fringe-blades in elegant purple spirals. She was only slightly shorter than him and deliciously lean. Every movement she made, a poem of strength and grace, every gaze she gave him, a fire in his loins. Everybody had a crush on Lavena, even the other females. She was impossible to resist, and Garrus, for one, wasn't really trying at all.

He turned about. Ah; there she was. Dancing around Nihlus. Everybody had a crush on Lavena, but of course she had a crush on Nihlus. To be totally fair, everybody had an even bigger crush on Nihlus, even the other males. Only he had made it clear that he was unavailable. He certainly hadn't slipped into lavishing anyone in particular with those impossibly green eyes. Instead he distributed his charm and sexiness and easy-going friendliness evenly among them all and they loved him, oh, how they loved him.

They had him to thank for both the excitement and the fun; for he had set up nearly impossible challenges for them. Such that they had to give everything, every last atom of their wit and strength and skill in order to come through. There hadn't been a single fatality in the end, and of the several injuries, only Xien's broken arm was hospital-worthy. Which was nothing short of amazing, but not entirely surprising, once you got the hang of it. The challenges were such that almost all could be met without shooting; if you succeeded in finding all the quirks. And Garrus had. In every single game. He _was_ the best of them. Everybody knew it. Nihlus knew it. The awareness gleamed from his eyes as he raised his mug across the tables to Garrus. Garrus smiled and cheered back. It was Nihlus who invited them to make these little parties at night, in the blue haze of the giant planet. It was Nihlus who made what threatened to be the worst time of their lives, into the best time of their lives.

Garrus got up to fetch himself a drink; he glanced at Nihlus and saw that his mug was empty. So he fetched two and went over.

"Thanks," Nihlus said. He was balancing his chair on the hind legs, and Lavena was standing in front of him, parading her perfect body and giving off signals of seduction on all channels. Garrus laughed; she raised a browplate at him, then shot a glance down at Nihlus and back to Garrus again. A question, and not exactly subtle. Garrus replied with a shrug: how the hell was he supposed to know if the Spectre was up for a threesome?

"I'm right here, you know?"

The two of them looked at Nihlus and laughed with him. Garrus drew a chair and sat down. Lavena preferred to stay upright; that way her beautifully curved profile appeared to the greatest advantage.

"So when is Saren coming back?" said Garrus in an attempt to move the communication past the sexual tension that was teeming everywhere around them. There would be a lot of fucking in the abandoned buildings tonight, he thought. His arousal found the idea agreeable.

"Mmm, Saren," said Lavena. So much for removing sexual tension. She looked about ready to jump on anyone with high enough… stature. But as he turned to Nihlus, Garrus noticed that his face had darkened.

"What," said Garrus. "Not too happy to welcome your colleague back?"

Nihlus raised his browplate in an expression Garrus couldn't quite catch, and drank a good half of his beer.

"Ah," said Lavena. "I get it. The two of you are…" And she gestured to indicate a connection at the hips.

"No," said Nihlus and Garrus could tell it was the truth.

Lavena shrugged. "Well then, you won't mind if I…"

"Not at all."

And Garrus could tell it was a lie. Lavena wasn't that observant, though. "So when is he coming back? Tonight?"

"I have no idea," Nihlus said and got up. He downed the rest of his drink. "I think I'm going to go hide now." And with that, he gave Garrus an almost imperceptible wink, well hidden from Lavena's predatory gaze.

Garrus smiled. "Understood."

#

He mingled with the others for another fifteen minutes so as not to raise suspicion, as apparently Nihlus didn't want that. He then picked up a bottle of quarian tequila and traded the kinetic stabilizer that he'd won on cards the other week for a bag of red sand.

As he made his way through the camp, Garrus found himself thinking about how strange it was that they had become so close in such a short while. Not Nihlus and him in particular; the entire group. He'd served in two units before signing up for Spectre training; and making friends never came to him so easily. There was something altogether unusual about this entire experience, and he was more than ready to assign it all to the magic of a pair of emerald green eyes. The thoughts of Lavena vaporized from his mind, and from his loins; she was too obvious, too aggressive. Not that he'd usually mind. But the prospect of being with Nihlus eclipsed all other desires.

The building where they had talked for the first time was dark and silent.

"I thought you wouldn't come," said a soft voice from the shadows in the room up front. It was the same room. "Or that I got lost again."

"Nah. Here." Garrus offered the bottle, and Nihlus took a long drag.

"Spirits. Thank you."

"Pleasure."

"I'm so tired. Are you tired?"

Garrus laughed. "You're joking, right? Fighting for three days without rest? Hello? And before that, seven months of merciless training. And another two with three hours of sleeping on average – in full armor." He could see nothing but Nihlus's silhouette against the window, but it was smiling. Nihlus was the smiliest turian he'd ever met.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes. That's a yes. But you know what? I'm so used to it by now, I don't even notice."

"I know. Boy, do I know."

Somehow, Garrus doubted that. Nihlus was too perfect to be tired. A snort of disbelief must have escaped him, for Nihlus said, "What? You don't believe me?"

"I'd never doubt the word of a Spectre."

Nihlus laughed. An easy, infectious laughter, like a stream running down a cliff back home, on Palaven. Garrus had no defenses against that sort of laughter. He had to laugh along. "What?"

"I'll tell you a secret. Can you keep a secret?"

The tequila was obviously working fast. Garrus was feeling it too. His teeth were numb. "Sure. Your secrets are shared with me. Safe! I meant, safe."

"Right." Nihlus chuckled, then leaned forward, and spoke into his ear, mandibles tickling and sending quivers down his spine. "I'm not a Spectre yet."

It took seconds to process the statement. The tequila was _really_ working fast. "Errr…?"

"You heard right," Nihlus said, stepping back. "Saren says it's only a formality now, but I'm not yet… appointed."

"But he said…"

"He lied."

"And you said…"

"I lied too."

"But why?"

Nihlus shrugged. "Who knows? This sort of thing bores him to no end. He saw the opportunity to escape and let me squirm, and he took it."

Just what I would have done, Garrus thought. His smirk was without mirth, though. "So you're his trainee? For how long?"

"Just over a year."

A cloud of honest-to-Spirits envy fogged all his senses. There was no point in trying to hide it. "Damn, I'm jealous. I'd give every blade from my fringe to observe him for a week, let alone a year."

"I used to think so too. Hell, I used to collect the extranet reports that mentioned him when I was younger. I guess he was something of a hero of my youth."

"No shit," Garrus breathed, his throat suddenly dry. "I used to do the same thing. Damn. I still do."

There was a silence full of breathing and for a moment, he wondered if he'd said too much. But it was the truth. Nihlus looked like the sort to appreciate truth above pleasantries. Garrus took a drink and passed the bottle.

Nihlus took it, drank some, cleared his throat. "Well. I was actually about to say that it's not all medals and honors in real life. He's a difficult man. Hah, talk about an understatement. He's an _impossible_ man."

"Personally or professionally?"

"Both? Well, I guess it depends. Professionally, we just don't see eye to eye. He's... He stops at nothing, you know?"

"Give me an example."

"Hm. Ok. Let's say there's a very bad criminal hiding onboard a shuttle full of civilians, and you can either blow up the shuttle along with all the innocents, or let him go and catch him later. What would you do?"

Garrus took a second to think about it, but he already knew the answer. "I'd blow the shuttle."

Nihlus choked and sprayed Garrus with tequila. "Spirits," he laughed. "The two of you would make a fine couple. I'd spare the civilians, of course."

"If the criminal is bad enough, you'd probably save more by not letting him escape."

"Yeah, I know that logic. All in the numbers. But I just can't work that way."

The conversation took a wrong turn, Garrus could sense it in the tension forming in his shoulders, and just as he thought that, Nihlus massaged the back of his neck and said, "That bottle looks almost empty."

"Pretty much, yeah," Garrus said and took a step forward. Nihlus held position. He smelled of sweat and soap and radiated crazy amounts of heat. "But I brought other gifts."

"Let me see." Nihlus took the little bag of red dust and laughed again. "Spirits, Vakarian. You bought this for me? What made you think…?"

"Hey, no obligations. I told you I'm not into that stuff, but if you are…"

"Oh, you read that right. I'm definitely into sand. I'm into anything, really. Been quite a while, though." Nihlus was fumbling to open the little bag with drunken fingers. "But… if this is your way of… you know… I have to tell you it's really not up to me."

Garrus was way too drunk to play guessing games. "What isn't?"

"The decision. I've already put in a recommendation for you so it doesn't matter if we… you know. But I have no idea if it will bear any weight. Saren is weird."

"In all honesty, you're pretty weird too."

"Wait till you see me dusted."

They laughed and Garrus stepped even closer. Nihlus's proximity was intoxicating way beyond the superficial effects of alcohol. Garrus saw him sniffing in, and several beats later, he started glowing in soft blues. "Come," he said, and Garrus gave in. He placed his hands on Nihlus's waist, felt the muscles ripple under the fabric of his black civies as his own suddenly became awfully tight. He dove into the neck, inhaled, reveling in the gentle tickle of the biotic sparks.

"Damn, you're hot," he breathed into Nihlus's ear.

"Mmmmh. Haven't heard that in a while. What else?"

Garrus chuckled, lifting the back of the light jacket and making the long coveted contact with bare skin. The touch of it was electrifying. "Crazy?"

"Yeah," Nihlus whispered, and a knowing hand found its way to Garrus's crotch. "I'm jackshit insane."


	5. Saren Returns

**Saren Returns**

Nihlus wasn't half as drunk as he wanted to be. Or perhaps, twice as much. Or maybe it was the sand, coloring all his perceptions in crimson shades of lust. He felt teeth grazing softly along his neck and had to fight the need, the urge to call out Saren's name. It wasn't fair. Vakarian was a good sport.

Yeah. Twice as drunk was probably the better description.

Vakarian was opening up for him. A spike of excitement akin to stage fright went through Nihlus and woke him up a bit. How long had it been for him? Just over a year? Hah. He pressed his mouth against that proud cheekbone, ran his tongue along the first fringe-blade, and found himself expecting it to continue into a horn. It wasn't fair. He wasn't supposed to do this. He started to push the eager body away, when his earpiece beeped. It was configured to beep only for urgent messages.

He took a step back, keeping Vakarian at arm's length, and lifted a hand to his ear. "Yes?"

"I'm back," said Saren's voice, shooting a bolt of desire into his guts, desire so acute that it actually hurt. "Come see me."

The line went dead, and for a second, Nihlus wasn't entirely sure that the 'conversation' had really happened.

"What is it?" said Vakarian.

"Saren's back."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Listen, I have to go. He doesn't like to wait."

"Right."

Nihlus extended a hand and cupped Vakarian's chin. "Sorry."

"It's ok. I mean, it's not, but it is. Damn. I'm drunk too."

"Tell me about it. Shit. He doesn't like it when I'm drunk."

"Sounds like an asshole."

"You have no idea. But, you know, there's also this whole other side to him… which doesn't show up in those extranet reports but which is just as… amazing. And nobody knows about it. Nobody loves him like I do."

Vakarian sounded like he was swallowing a big knot. "Strong words, friend. I'm… I don't know what to say to that."

"To what?"

"Well, that thing you just said. That you love him. I've never said that for anyone who isn't family."

"Did I say that?" Nihlus laughed, making ready to go, more than a little unsteady on his feet. "A slip of the tongue. Wanted to say, nobody _knows_ him like I do. Though I suppose both are true, in one way or another."

He saw Vakarian waving his head in the dark. "Man. I had no idea what 'disarming honesty' meant before talking to you. I wish I had the guts to talk like that. Think like that."

"Thinking is the keyword, Vakarian. I don't do a lot of thinking at all. That's Saren's thing. And yours, to a degree. You know, I have a feeling he's going to like you a lot."

"Do you suppose…? Nah. Never mind."

"What?"

"Do you think he could be my mentor too?"

And there it was, one of those rare things Nihlus _had_ done some thinking about. More than some. "I suppose it's possible. But not by design."

"You mean, he can't select who to train?"

"He can. But only once." Article 102, Point 21, a senior agent has the discretionary right to make one request of mentorship over a specific candidate of their choice; repeated requests will not be considered regardless of resolution. "And he already has."

"Let me guess. He chose you." The notes of envy echoed in Vakarian's voice, and clearly he hadn't even tried to conceal them. Nihlus smiled a sad smile and allowed the silence to speak for him. He had thought about this many times indeed. And every time he allowed himself to believe he'd finally understood, something would happen to puzzle him, to throw him to some random new place inside the labyrinth. Calling Saren impossible had been just another understatement; he was fucking unknowable, that's what he was, right next to the false gods of old, even if he only had the one worshiper.

"I see," Vakarian said, pulling him back to the reality of his swimming vision. "Then I guess you better hurry up, eh? I'll… um… I'll go to my room now. Compound three, room nine."

Nihlus nodded. "Compound three, room nine."

"Come see me later?"

"I'll try."

#

It took Nihlus some minutes to get to Saren's prefab. Fortunately, the effects of the sand had already dissipated by then, or at least he hoped so. He tried to walk slowly and breathe deeply, but he was too eager and there wasn't enough air. The door was open and he came in, panting.

Saren put down the pastry he was eating and studied him. The four hundred watts overhead light poked holes in Nihlus's brain.

"You're drunk," Saren said.

"Not true."

Saren closed in, looked him in the eye and cocked his head sideways. "Sand, Nihlus? I thought you were over these… tantrums."

"I'm off duty. I can do whatever the hell I want."

"A Spectre is never off duty."

"I'm not a Spectre yet."

The colorless eyes narrowed on him and Saren sniffed the air. "Whom have you been with?"

"Vakarian. We just had a few drinks." Shut up, you idiot. You're making it sound like you're guilty. Of what? Cheating? Ha-fucking-ha.

"Ah. The boy with daddy-issues."

Nihlus had to chuckle. "Yeah. That's the one. But how did you know…?"

"His father contacted me. He also contacted Sparatus."

"No shit? Badass son-of-a-bitch."

Saren held his eyes for a few more beats, then shook his head. "Go sleep it off. We'll talk tomorrow."

"I don't want to go." He only became aware of the amount of yearning that had come out on his subharmonics when the words had already left his mouth. And Saren picked it up alright. His chin lowered, silver eyes beaming under the furrowed browplates.

"This was a bad idea," Saren said. His voice was carefully schooled as always, but the eyes told a different story.

"It was _your_ idea to leave me here without saying a fucking word."

"No. _You_ left without saying a word."

Nihlus wanted to laugh, but found that he couldn't. "Left? I didn't _leave_. You practically spaced me."

"I don't like melodrama, Nihlus. If you had only waited an hour, I'd have apologized."

"So apologize now."

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and Nihlus only got more and more aroused. He wished he had the courage to go down on Saren right there, right now, but he knew it was the alcohol speaking. Saren had to make the move. Until he did, it was all futile. Nihlus wished he could be certain that Saren _would_ make a move, eventually. But nothing was certain with Saren.

"You should go."

"Chickenshit."

"Excuse me?"

"That's human for coward."

Saren's expression darkened like somebody turned off the light and the look in his eyes changed from… something… to murderous. "No more games, Nihlus. Go before I do something I'll regret. Again."

Nihlus became aware that his chest was heaving. His heart was pounding. He spoke in a wild whisper. "Come on, Saren. I know you want this as much as I do. Tonight. That's all I'm asking. Be with me tonight, and I won't ask for anything else. Ever again." Because he knew, every cell in his body was screaming in testimony of the dreadful knowledge that once this was over and he became a Spectre, they might easily never see each other again.

He thought he could see Saren's chest heaving as well. But all he said was, "No."

Nihlus started to discuss it, but Saren lifted a hand. There was no talking back to the hand. It would have to wait. For how long, Nihlus wondered? And was his fucking youth worth it?

#

Nihlus wanted to be a good protégé, listen to his mentor, go to his prefab, and sleep. But his prefab was nowhere to be found. He had made a full circle around the camp, which was now deathly quiet, and found nothing familiar. Things were painted in suspicious pink tones, maybe that was the reason? He'd taken sand many, many times before, but in truth, it had been several years since the last time. All with that quarian tequila… he was positively intoxicated.

Somehow his feet lead him back to the empty side. Funny, that. Half the camp was simply – empty. Now, why was that funny again? He turned around, tried to recognize the building where he'd met with Vakarian. All the buildings looked the same. And what did it matter anyway? He wouldn't stoop so low as to sleep on the floor in one of them. Would he? He was a Spectre now. An almost-Spectre. And a Spectre was never off duty. Yessir.

Shit. He must have been walking around like an idiot for hours.

That thought was sobering to a degree. He looked about in earnest, and thought he saw a familiar landmark far to his right. But then he realized he needed to take a leak, right now. He'd water the nearest building. Yeah. Not that there was anybody around to see him.

But as he approached, he heard noises. Female noises, and male noises, making noises. At first, he smiled. People come here to hide, sniff, and fuck, right, Vakarian? He discovered with some amusement that he could recognize the female noises. It was Lavena. He couldn't resist, and took a few steps towards the voices, which were apparently coming from a sort of alley between two long-houses. And then he discovered that he could recognize the male noises too.

All of the sudden, he was perfectly sober. Sick in his stomach, but all himself. His heart was pounding like never in his life and he could feel, oh yes, he could feel just how thin the air was. He didn't want to see it. He didn't want to hear it. Yet his legs carried him forward. Don't go, he pleaded with the driver of his body. Please don't go? If you don't go, maybe you can persuade yourself it was a dream. Sand-induced fantasy. Delirium tremens. Whatever.

But the body kept going.

He reached the corner of the building; the huge gas planet was behind his back and shining conveniently on the scene of the ultimate transgression. It was Saren alright. Pounding into Lavena like there was no tomorrow.

Nihlus watched in silent, helpless, horror. Horror mixed with the most unwelcome sensation of moisture between his legs. Saren had Lavena pinned against a wall, supporting one of her long legs with a hand; her other leg rested on his hip, and his other hand was on her face. Covering her mouth. He was moving at an unrelenting, tireless pace. Flap-flap-flap-flap of skin against skin, with his nh-nh-nh-nh rumbled in a tone Nihlus had never heard before. His heart broke into pieces, and the sharp shards ripped his soul to tattered shreds. And yet, he couldn't stop his plates from opening. He couldn't stop his eyes from looking.

Their bodies worked well together. He could see when she started twitching. He could count the spasms, ten, eleven? A good fuck. His breath caught and still he could not avert his gaze. Saren came a bit later, in a series of fast, short, close-up strokes. No moaning; it sounded like he was holding his breath. Bad practice, Nihlus advised, feeling ripe to throw up. Breathing is the key to prolonging the orgasm. Lavena had a good grasp of it. Saren… he obviously just needed to blow off some steam.

Nihlus-induced steam. There was no doubt about it. But it was no consolation.


	6. Against the Wall

**Against the Wall**

Garrus jumped. He'd fallen asleep at his desk, cradling the nearly empty bottle of tequila like a lifeline. Somebody was knocking… no, more like trying to bust the door with their head.

"Ok, ok, I'm coming," he yelled in a haggard voice as he unlocked the door. "What the he…"

Nihlus stumbled in and almost fell. Garrus tried to steady him. "Damn, Nihlus. You look like shit."

"Toilet."

"Yeah, yeah, on your right."

Garrus took to pacing as he listened to the sounds coming behind the thin wall with growing concern. Nothing at first, then pissing, flushing. Ok. Then came coughing. Nihlus was pushing a finger up his throat. Ok… And finally, vomiting.

But there was more to it. Garrus had picked up a sense of black despair from that one word and the dead weight of Nihlus's body when he held him. It scared the shit out of him.

There was still a bit of tequila in the bottle on the desk and Garrus downed it in one big, scorching gulp. Better like that, or Nihlus might have ideas. Also, he wanted to be drunk again; sobering up to a display of weakness from someone you look up to was no way to end a pleasant evening. Garrus hated weakness. Garrus feared and loathed it and he had no idea how to deal with it.

It made him remember, though he didn't want to.

There had been a period of his life when he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps in earnest. Before enlisting. Before the "Egg Cracker" case. Somebody had been using the public garbage compactors to murder turian children on the Citadel. There was a whole shit-storm in the media as pieces of little bodies piled up, with turians on the Citadel crying "the humans did it!" and causing a stupid, stupid wave of hate crimes against humans on Palaven and all major colonies. All for nothing, as it turned out that the killer was a turian woman who'd lost her only child (and apparently her mind as well), in some gruesome accident that she'd been trying to reenact, or whatever. Dad had caught her using "profiling", a psychological method of "getting inside the criminal mind" which was devised by humans, to complete the grim irony. Garrus remembered the extranet reports showing his father as a hero, and he'd shared in the elation – until Dad came home.

That had been the single most embarrassing, most painful moment of his entire life. He'd heard the car land out in front and started sprinting down the hall when he realized he'd forgotten to bring his enlistment scroll. Dad had to see it, he would be so proud. Garrus ran back to his room, fished out the scroll from the pile of things on top of his console and went back in big euphoric leaps. But a strange noise made him freeze in the hall before entering the living room. A noise in his father's voice, only he'd never heard those particular subharmonics before: deep, heavy, meaty, resonating in all the wrong ways with his own vocal cavity. He made a careful step ahead and peered through the doorway. Dad was on his knees, looking huge and dangerous in his heavy combat suit, looking weak and wretched at the same time with his back shaking in that weird rhythm. Mum was holding him in a desperate embrace, his face buried in her collar, her eyes shut and browplates gathered tight. As Garrus watched, hypnotized, Dad let out another nauseating groan.

"I can't do this anymore," he said, the words barely separable in the mess of uncontrolled vocalizations. "I can't go back there."

"I know," Mum whispered. "I know."

Garrus felt his guts twist and stepped back, afraid he'd lose his lunch if he stayed. Suddenly he found a tag to put on the horrible feeling lumped in his throat: disgust. Dad's weakness disgusted him. His own reaction disgusted him even more.

Walking backwards, he didn't see his little sister coming from behind. "Is that Dad?"

"Back to your room, Sol. Now."

"But I want to see Dad."

"Now!"

The way he hissed at her, the way she scrambled away from him – that was the most disgusting of it all. He'd kept his wit until he heard the door to her room swish closed and locked. Then he'd run to the toilet and vomited his guts out.

Like Nihlus did some moments ago. And now he was producing the sounds, those horrible sounds, only he didn't have a collar to hide in and muffle them. Garrus felt the weakness spread from the toilet like a virus and his knees became flimsy. Shit.

#

When Nihlus finally came out, after a really long shower, Garrus was completely sober and not even a little sleepy, despite all the exhaustion and the investment of conscious effort. He'd planned what to say. He'd say: it was really nice meeting you, Nihlus, an honor, truly, but I don't need this shit. Or he'd go with: hey, you can crash here if you want, but I'm going out now, ok? Or something along: I'll walk you to your prefab, you need to get some sleep, you know?

But Nihlus had come out stark naked and Garrus's mind wiped itself clean like a broken memory chip. All he could say was, "Damn. You're gorgeous."

Nihlus smiled, weakly. "Thanks. Look, I'm sorry about this. I wanted to go to my room but I couldn't find my way. I was so…"

"It's ok. Really." He wondered if Nihlus could detect just how emotionally invested this little lie was. And was disturbed to see that yes, Nihlus could detect it and then some.

He nodded. "Give me a second to dress up and I'll be out of your fringe."

"Don't… dress up. Please."

Nihlus stopped with his hand on the door of the bathroom. "Don't play games with me. I'm in no shape…"

"No games. I want you to stay. I want you, period." He got up and held Nihlus from the back, encircling his waist with his arms. "Damn, I want you like I never wanted anyone before." He snuggled against the back of Nihlus's neck. "But I'm bad at dealing with this sort of thing, you know? I don't know what to say or…"

"Yeah," Nihlus whispered back, and Garrus could feel shivers traveling up and down through the smooth muscles on his stomach. _Not_ the good kind of shivers. "Tell me about it. I didn't cry even when my father died."

Cry. Cry? Was that the word? The weakness crept back into his knees.

"What the hell happened to you?"

But Nihlus shook his head. Off limits. Which was just as well; past the superficial curiosity, Garrus didn't really want to know. There was something strange at work between the two Spectres… between the Spectre and the trainee… perhaps it wasn't as dirty as Lavena would have liked it, but it sure didn't look healthy either. So he simply tightened his hold, pressed deeper into Nihlus, hips against hips, and damn, that chased the weakness away in no time. His hand slid down and met no resistance whatsoever.

"Yeah," came another whisper, white-hot, maddening. Garrus set up a slow pace, and the soft rumble emanating from Nihlus's chest was _melting_ him. "Yeah. Oh Spirits. Oh Spirits." Garrus bit lightly into the side of Nihlus's neck, extracting an exquisite sigh. "Fuck, that feels so good."

Fuck? Yeah. Fuck yeah. He turned Nihlus around, warm and pliable and so damn irresistible. He stared into the green eyes, they were so open, so honest, so fucking innocent that they were almost not sexy at all. Almost. He started to unseal his thin thermal and Nihlus joined the efforts. The fabric fell away and he stepped out of it, a tiny bit uncomfortable on the account of the very obvious fact that he'd been open, out and about, for some time already.

"Fuck, you're hot," Nihlus breathed, and before Garrus could smile or rumble or anything at all, Nihlus was upon him, pushing him, pushing into him, until their positions were quite the reversed from what Garrus had had in mind, and he found himself pinned against the wall, with Nihlus ravishing his neck and jaws, expert fingers touching secret places Garrus didn't even know he had. There was an instinct to fight, to fight and reestablish dominance, but it melted away like late snow in spring sun as Nihlus went down on his knees, making Garrus claw into the wall behind.

"Ah! Oh man. Shit!"

He usually wasn't the verbose type, but he couldn't help himself. Nihlus knew what he was doing, boy, did he know what he was doing! Garrus propped himself up on his toes, losing focus, losing mind. His heart skipped a beat, his hips shot forward in an involuntary spasm, and Nihlus disengaged with a soft little laugh.

"And there I thought _I_ was depraved."

"Not… depraved," Garrus panted. "I just… no one ever… shit…!" He laughed a little, wasting precious air. Nihlus stood up again, brushing against his length, and Garrus relished the avalanche of delightful shudders that every little touch produced in his severely over-sensitized body.

"Come," Nihlus rumbled in a husky tone and pressed tight against him. Garrus was so hot that even the occasional accidental touch threatened to push him over the edge. He tried to exhale some sort of a warning but Nihlus was lightning-quick and strong as hell and he left Garrus breathless with surprise again as he reached down and lifted his leg, nudging the other one aside with his knee. Garrus had no time to prepare before he found himself impaled and stretched out, but Nihlus was so wet, so warm, so fucking _skilled_, that there was next to no pain and Garrus felt his heart climbing all the way up into his throat.

"Fuck yeah… fuck yeah… fuck!"

Nihlus started slowly, but soon built up to a furious pace, holding his leg in one hand and cradling his face in the other, breathing into his ear in short, fierce gushes, and Garrus clawed into the back of his neck and into his side, driving him closer until the motions were rubbing him just the right way and the room collapsed into a timeless haze of ahs and ohs and fuck, oh fuck, where the fuck did you learn to fuck like that...!

It didn't take long before Nihlus started coming and now he was letting out vocal moans that pulled Garrus along for the ride of his life. Their bodies worked great together and even the mess of uncontrolled jerks and spasms had a mad rhythm to it. Nihlus kept pushing and rubbing and panting into his ear and it went on and on until all lights went off in Garrus's mind.

Many ragged breaths later, Nihlus pulled out and dropped his leg and Garrus found it was not a trivial task to stand on his own. When Nihlus pushed himself away, several strands of clear fluid lingered between them.

"I guess I was a bit depraved after all," Garrus said, wiping his chest. Nihlus chuckled and leaned back in to give him a delicious lick just between the ear and the jaw, causing a cascade of quivers, rippling down his back. "Damn, Nihlus," he breathed. "This was the best fuck I ever had."

"You're still young," Nihlus whispered in his ear, nuzzling against his throat. "But thank you. For everything."

"Pleasure." Garrus let his mind wonder as his body started feeling the exhaustion. "No… let me rephrase that: ecstasy."

Nihlus laughed and stepped back. It was good to see him smiling again in earnest, though Garrus had no illusions about the long-term effects of post-coital euphoria. Sooner or later he'd remember, and Garrus had no intention to pretend he wanted to be there when that happened. Selfish? Sure. But also, honest. Nihlus looked like a man who preferred honesty over spared feelings.

He didn't need to say a word, though. Nihlus went into the toilet again and reemerged totally dressed, looking only slightly worse than yesterday morning. Was it morning already? Garrus tapped the light controls and yeah, the sun was just about high enough to make an awkward goodbye a bit blurred in his memory.


	7. Recommendation

**Recommendation**

Nihlus stared at the mirror in the bathroom of his prefab for the longest time. He felt like years had passed since yesterday and he wanted to see if he looked any older. But he only looked tired. Tired, spent, hungover. The colors on his face were fading. He had some scratch marks on his neck, a little souvenir from Vakarian. It was good for what it was. Not quite good enough to replace the painful memory with a pleasant one, but he was grateful anyway.

He splashed his face and neck with cold water, changed his sweaty civvies, and went to look for Saren. He didn't fear the confrontation. He wouldn't hide a thing: neither the scratch marks, nor the pain caused by something altogether different, and yet not different at all. There was only one wish, one plan he'd try to see through. He didn't want to say goodbye like this. He didn't want to say goodbye, period. But that – that was just wishful thinking.

Like last night, he found the door to Saren's prefab open, and Saren was sitting at a terminal that he'd turned so as to face the entrance while working. Nihlus smiled a bit, though his heart sunk the moment he'd laid eyes on him, the merciless sound of flap-flap-flap-flap repeating itself ad nauseam in the back of his head. He took a deep breath that didn't do much for him at all, and stepped inside.

Saren made no motion to express awareness of his presence, though he must have seen and heard him. Nihlus turned about, saw breakfast things on the table to his right, groceries that were surely not from Ganima. Saren probably brought a whole case of supplies along for his two-day stay. Saren didn't like vat-grown food. Saren didn't like a great many things.

"Help yourself," he said, never lifting his gaze from the terminal.

Nihlus considered it, but his stomach grumbled in rebellion. "Maybe later," he said. He was surprised to hear his voice coming out so calm and even. He walked over to the terminal but stopped at a respectable distance. "Are you looking over my report?"

"Yes. Vakarian and Helas. Is that your recommendation?"

"Garrus is the one. Lavena is second-best." In all things imaginable.

Finally Saren looked at him. And Nihlus froze under the stare. Cold and loaded with malice. Some unfathomable emotion rippled over the steel features but it was not a wave so much as it was a shadow of a wave and Nihlus couldn't catch the meaning before it was gone. But then Saren spoke in a tone of ultimate loathing that made everything clear.

"His smell is all over you."

Taken by surprise, Nihlus started to say something, then let his mouth close with an empty click. He had nothing to be ashamed of, yet his face was on fire. He should have taken a shower. Fuck, he should have taken a shower.

He wanted to say, and hers is all over you, although, technically speaking, it wasn't. He wanted to say, it could have been _your_ scent, if you had cooperated, so shut up and take your own damn medicine. He wanted to say, I didn't do it to hurt you, and I know you didn't do it to hurt me – we both needed to blow off some steam and that's what we've done. I only wish we could have done it with each other. Why the hell not?

"Excuse me?" Saren said.

Nihlus wasn't aware that he'd spoken. "So what?" he repeated on muscle memory.

"It makes your recommendation invalid."

The line was delivered in such an isn't-it-obvious, matter-of-fact way, that for a second, Nihlus almost believed it. Of course it was nonsense, from his point of view. But looking at Saren now, seeing that his gaze had softened, if only by a tiny degree, seeing that he was aware he was answering a question altogether different and yet not different at all, Nihlus came to a mind-blowing revelation.

_Saren _believed it.

His face must have looked strange, because Saren frowned. "What?"

"You really believe that, don't you? You think that, since I slept with him, I'm no longer objective?"

"Are you?"

Nihlus laughed, but the cynical note sounded alien to him, let alone to Saren, who was becoming increasingly suspicious. "Spirits, Saren. It was just sex. A quick fuck against the wall."

The pun was intended. Saren's eyes narrowed, then darted to what Nihlus believed was Lavena's file, displayed on the terminal. Nihlus would have given his arm from the shoulder to hear his thoughts right now. The analogy was flawed, of course, and Nihlus was just starting to realize that. "Just sex" had no more bearing on objectivity than "just food" or "just rest." As Saren's left mandible flicked to confirm this, Nihlus found himself bathing in cold sweat. The two of them, they could never just "blow off steam" together.

And the pieces of his heart came together again, like scraps of iron latching onto a magnet. There would be scars, but at least it was whole again. Beating and feeling. Oh, how it was feeling!

"No matter," said Saren after a while, and his voice was unusually quiet. "Even if I sign your recommendation, the Council will reject it."

"Spirits," Nihlus said, slow to go back the here and now. "I totally forgot about that."

"Should I sign it anyway?"

They looked at each other for a long time. The question entered into all facets of the multi-layered conversation. How can you be sure your report about Vakarian was objective? Was my report about _you_ objective? Are you certain it was nothing more than a quick fuck? Would it have been more, if it had been me?

"Yes. Absolutely. And, you know, I only slept with him when I already filed the report." Just like you have already filed yours.

"But you must have wanted him… before."

The words were spoken in a deep tone that echoed the terrible weight of all the suppressed emotions Nihlus suspected were hiding within, and it wrenched at his guts. This was the closest Saren had ever come to actually making the move. Though perhaps for him it was more of a leap. A leap of faith.

"Him? Not particularly, no." Nihlus took a deep breath and let all _his_ emotions tremble on his subharmonics. "But I understand what you mean."

Do you, the mirror eyes asked.

I do, he nodded. I really do.

Saren looked away and typed something into the terminal. "Sent," he said. "It's out of our hands now."

Our. Nihlus could never hear enough of it. "Thank you."

Saren huffed, then seemed to start to say something. But didn't. Instead, he just stared at Nihlus again. I'm sorry.

And Nihlus smiled. I forgive you.


	8. News Report

**News Report**

Garrus was leading a drunken krogan by the cuffed hands to an extra-padded cell when a familiar smiling face showed up on the news-holo in the main hall of the C-Sec compound. He smiled back at it; no time to listen to the news report now, but he made a mental note to look it up on the extranet later.

It had been nine years since their brief entanglement in the Spectre training camp, and Garrus could count the occasions when they'd run into each other on the Citadel after that by the fingers of his hands. Nihlus would always greet him with unadulterated cordiality. They would shake hands in the beginning and exchange a brief hug in the end, and it wouldn't be the hands-on-the-shoulders kind, but the long-lingering, full-body, cheek-to-cheek sort of hug. Nihlus would promise they'd go have drinks the next time, for he was in a hurry, he was always in a hurry. Garrus didn't mind the white lie, although he did still harbor a healthy amount of longing. But mostly he was simply proud of the acquaintance, and enjoyed the privilege of nudging a fellow C-Sec officer in the canteen to say, hey, I know this guy! And the fellow officer would glance at the news report and say, a Spectre, eh? Lucky son of a bitch. And Garrus would say, yeah. Exactly.

With the krogan secured and the forms M2 through M14 filled in and signed, and questionnaires Q3 through Q7 filled and posted anonymously, the witness statements run through the speech recognition program, checked, rechecked and filed, and the report template signed by the section PI and marked due next morning, Garrus finally took the elevator down to the wards for a lunch break. The speakers in the cabin were busted again; but he could see the news report and the same picture of Nihlus through the panoramic window, displayed on the news-holos all over the Citadel. Something big must have gone down.

He picked up his usual order of dextro pastries and vegetables from Hinley's and took a walk to the rented apartment he'd been sharing with Polox, a young man from Taetrus who was working for Elanus Security. Their schedules were such that they rarely met, and that was just as well; Garrus wasn't keen on making friends. He hated the Citadel, and barely tolerated the work, and lived from day to day, constantly waiting for an opportunity, some opening to escape through and start living his life, the life he wanted. The life of a Spectre.

It was a strange thing to admit, but seeing Nihlus on the news always triggered these spells of foul mood, just as meeting him launched cascades of conflicting emotions. He never stopped liking Nihlus; and he was still to have sex he could honestly call better than that quick fuck against the wall. In time, he started collecting extranet reports on his activities, like he used to do with Saren's. Saren had fallen off the radar in the recent years, dabbling in politics and accumulating riches; Nihlus was the new hero, the new poster-boy, the second most-decorated turian in the service of the Council _ever_. No, Garrus had never stopped liking him, but seeing Nihlus on the news made him want to snipe someone from the rooftop of his building, just as meeting him made him want to beat someone within an inch of their life with bare talons.

#

He sat to eat and brought up the terminal. Scrolled through the daily Citadel headlines and ended up typing "Nihlus" in the search bar to save time. The smiling face came up under the title "Attack on Eden Prime." Garrus scanned the keywords. And put down the unfinished pastry on the tray with a hand that had started shaking.

He had barely known the man. Yes. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen him face to face. True, all true. He had no right to mourn him. No, no right at all. It had only been a quick fuck against the wall.

So why was his throat suddenly constricted? Why was there an ache in his chest? He started to clear his throat but instead froze at the sound that came out of it. A horrible sound that scared the shit out of him. Deep, heavy and meaty, resonating from his vocal cavity in all the wrong ways.

Garrus stood up and pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat of panic. His breath came in ragged, and a crumb of food must have come in with it because he slipped into a violent fit of coughing that eventually sent him to the bathroom, and the freshly chewed lunch went out in sadly recognizable pieces.

When it seemed to be over, he stood in front of the mirror. Nauseating shivers were travelling up and down the muscles of his abdomen. He hadn't cried even when they'd told him about Mum. He had never cried, period. His chest was still heaving with shock, but now it was controlled, contained. It had been just a cough. Yes. The sad news had made him choke on his lunch and that was all there was to it.

Another ragged breath.

He went back to the room, turned the terminal off without looking at it and took out a nearly empty bottle of quarian tequila from the storage. He was still on duty and wasn't supposed to drink. But right now, Garrus didn't give a flying fuck about duty. He took a long drag that burned through the lump in his throat in no time.

There was just about enough tequila in the bottle to make the final goodbye a bit blurry in his memory.


End file.
